


Of Footy Pyjamas, Stuffed Otters, and Heterosexual Hand-Holding

by whitchry9



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Medical, No Slash, Otters, Pneumonia, Sickfic, footy pyjamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 19,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in a tiny town in Norway, Martin's cold progresses into something far worse. He seems to think he's fine, but Douglas can tell otherwise. And of course, Douglas being Douglas is correct, and thank goodness he decides to act on it.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: At first Martin thinks it's just a cold, and no wonder he got one in his perpetually damp and cold attic. But the symptoms don't go away, they become worse and worse. He coughs like mad, there's prickling pain in his chest, he feels weakness and dizzyness. Medicine is super-expensive as he finds out when he finally dares to go to a chemist's, so he ends up buying some tissues, the cheapest thing on display, and that's it.
> 
> Everyone at MJN thinks it's a cold too. They have no idea how hard it is for Martin just to stay upright; Douglas makes jokes and Arthur makes Martin hot tea, that sort of thing.
> 
> It goes on for a couple of weeks until one day they fly somewhere freezing, and Martin is cold like he never thought he could be, and by morning his acute bronchitis develops into full-on pheumonia. His fever is through the roof, he can hardly breathe with his sinuses totally clogged and his cough coming in fits every time he inhales. Basically, he's a living illustration to a description of a pilot unfit to fly.
> 
> How do they cope with it, stranded in a non-English-speaking country with severely ill Martin who has a good chance of dying after he has neglected his health for so long, a contract they have to cancel, with little money and little knowing of what it is that they can do?
> 
> I don't want just a usual h/c fic with friendly fussing over someone ill, I'd really like something serious and angst-y. Gen or D/M pre-slash/slash, I'm fine either way.  
> http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=12230113#cmt12230113

Martin didn't just have bad luck, he didn't have luck _period._ Bad luck meant that someone would have good luck eventually. A yin and a yang.

But Martin? No luck whatsoever.

Anyone who looked at his life could have figured that out, whether it was the failed CPL exams or the pilot job that didn't pay him, but Martin mostly focused on two of the ways. His attic apartment and always losing to Douglas during any of their games. Those were the ones that really mattered. They were the ones he had to face every day, over and over, always staring him in the face. And Douglas was a sore winner. (Of course, he was an even worse loser, but that was something Martin never had to worry about.)

But basically, Martin was the one who got the short straw, the rotten deal, and basically was the bad luck magnet for all of MJN air. Nothing really bad happened to anyone else when he was around. Just him.

Martin had resigned himself to a life of always being called the co-pilot, always being the one to lose games, always being the one to get the hotel room with the bed that broke as soon as he sat on it, and always the one to get hurt, like when he broke his leg tripping over flat ground, even as Arthur fell off of Gerti's wing at the same time, coming away without a scratch.

Essentially, Martin was used to his life sucking.

He wasn't sure why he kept trying to tell himself any different.

 

It started off as a cold.

The common cold. Nothing that Douglas Richardson would concern himself with, of course. The common cold couldn't touch a man like him, but he was irritated with Martin's sniffling.

(To be fair, it was an eight hour flight, and Martin was getting annoyed with himself by the end.)

So he went to the chemist, but after seeing the price of the cough syrups, decided he would be better off eating, and just bought some tissues instead. They were much cheaper.

But then came the coughing.

After one particularly brutal fit (on a flight to Florida), which left Martin exhausted and slouched in his chair, Douglas spoke up.

“Martin, are you alright?”

“Of course I am Douglas. Just a cold.”

Martin could feel Douglas' eyes examining him and made a point to ignore him.

“Colds generally don't involve coughs like that.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I'm fine and I am _not_ giving you control.”

Douglas tutted. “Really Martin? Is that all you think of me? I can't genuinely be concerned about you?”

Martin snuck a glance at him. “Are you?”

“Of course. You could crash us into a mountain during a coughing fit and I wouldn't even get a chance to use my five steps.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, thank you for your concern.”

Douglas only hummed in response.

“Oh and Douglas?”

“Yes, _Sir?_ ”

“We're flying over an ocean. I hardly think we're going to crash into a mountain.”

“Notoriously sudden, those mountains are.”

Martin snorted.

“New word game,” Douglas declared.

“What is it now?”

“Double bill question and answer movie titles.”

Martin groaned. “Oh, not again. I'm awful at this. And you just save them all up to use.”

Douglas ignored him.

“Casual Sex? Never Say Never.”

“Oh, fine. Umm... how about...”

“What Women Want. Chocolat.”

Martin perked up. “Oh, oh! I've got one. Where's Jack? Parade's End.”

Douglas sighed. “Martin. That is a television show, not a movie.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. Mulan.”

Martin sighed and wracked his brain.

 

The warm humid air in Florida seemed to do Martin some good, and he felt like he was well on his way to getting better.

Not so.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, the week after, when he was back to shoving around large items of furniture when the temperature was in the negatives, his lungs seemed to have forgotten they were supposed to be improving.

He barely finished moving a dining room table, and went home to collapse on his bed, sleeping for eleven straight hours, and almost being late for a flight. And even when he awoke, he was still exhausted, his throat was raw from coughing, his chest was aching like he'd pulled something, and he felt feverish.

The perfect start to a day that would be filled with flying to yet another, colder country. Martin thought it wasn’t possible, but when he arrived at the airfield, Arthur was pleased to inform his that the weather in Bodo, Norway was at a balmy negative four degrees Celsius, not including wind chill. (And considering it was one of the windiest cities in Norway, that was sort of important.)

“D'you think we'll see polar bears?”

Martin frowned. “What?”

“Polar bears. Do you think we'll see any?”

Martin rubbed his forehead. It felt hot to him, but considering his hands were freezing, it didn't mean much.

“I... I honestly don't know Arthur. I wouldn't get too excited through. They are rather shy.”

“Like camels?”

“Yes,” he agreed. Content with that answer, Arthur skipped off.

Martin sighed and collapsed in his flight chair.

“You're looking awful,” a voice boomed.

Martin tried not to jump, but couldn't help it.

“Oh, thank you Douglas. As observant as ever.” He sat up a bit, as if that would make him look better, rather than just help along the dizziness he was feeling.

“Oh, don't be so childish,” Douglas scoffed. “I did go to medical school, remember? Besides, I have a daughter. I can tell when someone's ill. And I rather don't want to be trapped in a metal box with you while you throw your germs this way and that with every exhale.” He threw his bag on his seat as he said that.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'll have you know I'd rather not be here as well,” Martin snapped. “But the client we're picking up tomorrow is a rather important one and he expects two pilots.”

“Martin, I was merely making an observation.”

“Well next time, keep it to yourself!” he snapped.

Martin hadn't meant to be so mean, but he was sick and tired of Douglas pushing him around. Not to mention a headache was already building.

It was going to be a long flight.

 

The first two hours crawled by. The word game was dull because Douglas was winning (by an awful lot, which was hardly unexpected), and more so because Martin couldn't be bothered to play.

“Come on Martin, it's no fun doing it on my own,” Douglas said in a tone that seemed rather close to whining. If Douglas was the whining sort. And if he was around eleven years old. Which he wasn't.

“I don't know any,” he said simply, exhausted enough by the effort of keeping his eyes open. He wasn't willing to spend any excess on... what were they playing again?

He doubted Douglas believed that. It was true of course, but wasn't the real reason.

“Less than an hour left to go. Then you can have a nap at the hotel. You're hardly looking fit for flying.”

Martin couldn't even argue.

“I just need some sleep.”

“Martin, this is just a suggestion, but perhaps you should go to a doctor.”

Martin scowled at Douglas. “Of course I know that. It's just between the flying and the man with a van job I have so little time. I'm sure I'll get over it soon.”

Douglas examined Martin as he coughed again after that little speech. “And the sun is going to burn out soon.”

“Is it really?” Arthur chirped, arriving with the tea.

Douglas rolled his eyes. “No Arthur. That's the whole point.”

“Right! I totally get it.”

Martin eyed Arthur as he handed him his tea. “Do you get it?” he asked skeptically.

“Not at all. I just like saying that.”

Douglas smirked. “That will be all for now Arthur, thank you.”

 

“He's disgustingly cheery for someone who's going to Bodo,” Martin noted bitterly, sipping at his tea.

“Oh, you know him. Always happy to take part in the miracle of flying.”

“And he's convinced he'll see a polar bear.”

Douglas snorted. “Is he now? Well.”

The rest of the flight crawled by.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a small airport, and the landing wasn't exactly easy. It was very windy after all. Douglas seemed to recognize this and took the landing. Martin was just pleased he didn't announce 'I HAVE CONTROL' to everyone. It seemed like something Douglas would do.

The cargo they brought was picked up, and once Gerti was checked over and locked down for the night, the crew of MJN air piled in a car to the hotel. A hotel that wasn't even in the small town they'd landed in. No, they had to travel to another, smaller town, because that was where Carolyn had gotten the best deal for hotels. Martin couldn't even pronounce it, those strange Norwegian names with their funny letters.

Still, it was a half hour car ride through Norway (in the winter, had he mentioned that?) in a rent-a-car with broken heating.

Which was just brilliant.

Martin was pretty sure he fell asleep, since the ride went by awfully fast, and he didn't hear Arthur yell yellow car even once.

 

In this case, hotel was not quite the right word. It was more like someone's really large house that they rented rooms out by the night.

Martin's room was small and dark, but it had a bed, and that was really all he needed.

It was cold too, but he supposed that was to be expected, Norway in the winter and everything.

He threw his bag on the bed, fiddled with the buttons on the thermostat until he was sure he'd turned it up (or perhaps even gone a bit far, to roasting), and went to take a very, _very,_ hot shower.

 

The shower was hot, thankfully, and Martin must have stood in there for half an hour, just letting his body soak up all that warmth. The steam felt nice to his lungs, much better than the biting air that faced him every time he ventured outside the airplane, his van (although his van wasn't much warmer), and his attic (ditto).

He was a bit reluctant to get out, but he was precariously close to falling asleep standing up, and with his luck, would have passed out, hit his head on the way down, fallen unconscious, and drowned in an inch of water.

The shock of going from the steamy and warm bathroom back to the room, which had not at all warmed up, and... well, it was _shocking._

His pyjamas were old, and rather thin for braving what felt like, at best, springish temperatures.

There was a knock at the door.

Not Arthur, because he insisted on using a secret knock. Probably not Carolyn, since she would have most likely used the key card to get in.

Which only left... Douglas.

What would he want?

 

Martin swung the door open.

“What do you want Douglas?”

“Just checking to see how Sir was doing. Arthur had been slightly concerned you overhydrated yourself and dissolved.”

Martin frowned. “Really?”

“No.”

Martin left Douglas standing in the doorway and threw himself on the bed.

“It's rather... crisp in here.”

“Yes, it bloody well is.”

Douglas stood in the doorway to Martin's room. It was slightly more than 'crisp', and he had so mildly put it. If anything, it was bordering on frigid.

“Is your room this cold Douglas?” he asked.

Douglas swept his eyes over the room. “No. Although I suspect you could sleep in an igloo and it wouldn't be this cold.”

“Really? They have those here?” Martin heard Arthur speak, but didn't see him.

Douglas sighed. “No Arthur. Why are you listening in on us anyway?”

Arthur shifted so Martin could see him in the doorway as well. He was dressed in red footy pyjamas.

“I was bored. And Mum made me leave her room.”

“Nice... erm... pyjamas you've got there,” Martin stuttered.

Arthur beamed. “I got them for Christmas! Which is my equal favourite holiday-”

“Yes, we know,” Douglas cut him off, sighing.

“Skip, why is your room colder than an igloo?”

Martin groaned. “I don't know Arthur.”

“You could share with me. Or Douglas! Right?”

Douglas frowned. “I suppose. Although if Carolyn is paying good money for these rooms, they should be habitable.”

Martin snorted. “That's funny. Good money.”

Douglas smirked. “It's nice to know you haven't coughed up your sense of humour.”

“No, just about everything else though.”

“Come on Skip! I'll sleep on the floor and you can have the bed and it will be like a sleepover, or maybe that time we slept in Gerti in the snow, except better because this time no one will step on me!”

Martin considered it. He was tempted. But Arthur tended to talk in his sleep, and Martin knew he wasn't going to sleep well as it was.

“Thanks Arthur, but I think I'll stay here. Maybe an extra blanket?...” he trailed off, looking down at his worn pyjamas.

“I have an extra set of pyjamas if you want to borrow them!” Arthur chirped.

“Do they have... feet?”

“Of course! They're blue though. I didn't get them for Christmas. I got them for one of my other equal favourite holidays-”

“Alright,” Martin agreed, even if it was just to get Arthur to shut up. “I'd love to borrow them.”

“Righto. Be right back!”

Arthur scurried off down the hall towards his room.

Douglas looked back at Martin.

“You really are looking dreadful Martin. Are you sure you want to stay in here? I don't think Carolyn would be pleased about having to wait for you to defrost before you could fly out in the morning.”

Martin sighed. “Really Douglas, I'll be fine.”

Of course, any real meaning that sentence had was ruined as soon as he began coughing.

He finished and glared at Douglas, who only smirked.

Arthur reappeared with a blue bundle, which he threw at Martin.

“Here you go Skip!”

Martin unfolded them. It wasn't what he expected. It was worse. The pyjamas, while blue and containing feet, would have been fine if they weren't adorned with tiny aeroplanes.

“Thanks Arthur,” he said weakly.

And of course he had to wear them. Arthur's heart would be broken otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

Martin rolled over. He was cold. Colder than he thought possible, even though he was in northern Norway. He figured the fuzzy pyjamas from Arthur, and the extra blanket than Douglas had managed to sweet talk the front desk into bringing (of course, he wasn't able to get the heating fixed, typical) would have been enough to ward off the chill, but he was wrong.

Yet again.

 

He managed to fall asleep, an exhausted body that fell asleep despite the chill in the room. He couldn't be bothered to care anymore.

 

Martin slept restlessly. He was used to sleeping in unknown environments, it was practically part of the life of a pilot, so that wasn't the problem. His room in the attic wasn't that warm or cozy, so that wasn't it either, even though this was colder than his attic room had ever been.

No, it was something else.

He felt _awful._ Like it would be better to die than to force air into and out of his lungs. The sheer amount of energy required to breathe was too much. And moving? No, he seemed to have gained an inordinate amount of weight while he slept. There would be no more moving. Ever.

 

No, Martin figured it would be alright if he died here. After all, what was out there to live for? Snow... snow... snow... Mostly snow.

He must have been feverish, because his thoughts weren't making any sense to him.

He wondered if this was how Arthur felt.

 

He slept, or maybe not, it was hard to tell because the dreams didn't stop when he was awake.

Maybe he wasn't awake. Maybe he was dead. But if he was dead it should stop being hurting.

No, that's what Arthur said. He wasn't Arthur.

Martin coughed, and coughed, and coughed, and it hurt. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think about doing either.

 

Perhaps Douglas was right. He may need to go see a doctor.


	5. Chapter 5

Martin was late. Martin was _never_ late.

And yet he was.

It was a conundrum, one that Douglas couldn't help but be inclined to solve. And considering how dreadful Martin had looked the night before, he couldn't help but have the slightest amount of fear buried somewhere deep inside that curiosity.

 

“Douglas! Where's Martin?” Carolyn trilled.

“I'm assuming in his room, unless he's taken up sleepwalking.”

“Let me rephrase that, where is he that he isn't here?”

Carolyn gestured to the lobby of the 'hotel', which was where they'd planned on meeting before driving to pick up their client and back to the airport.

“You know how I didn't know ten seconds ago? Well I _still_ don't know.”

“Well, go and find him then!”

“Can I go mum?” Arthur chirped.

“Yes, alright, fine. You all form a Martin search party and bring him back.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur grinned.

Douglas sighed and held out his hand. “Key?”

Carolyn frowned, but dropped it into his hand after digging it out of her purse. “I'm not going to ask,” she muttered.

“As you should. Come on Arthur.”

Arthur trailed on his heels like a puppy, rambling on about something that Douglas couldn't be bothered to listen to. When he stopped abruptly in front of Martin's room, Arthur nearly ran into him.

“Sorry,” he offered.

Douglas only sighed and knocked on Martin's door, giving him the opportunity to answer it before he barged in. He did have standards.

“Come on _Captain,_ ” he called. “You're going to be late for a flight.”

Douglas knew that would rouse Martin out of even the deepest of sleeps. Somewhere in his brain an alarm went off if the words 'late' and 'flight' were used in the same sentence.

It spoke volumes that this didn't have an effect today.

“Maybe he's in the shower?” Arthur offered.

Douglas sighed and tried to retain his composure. “If he was, we would hear the water running.”

“Oh. Right. Maybe he just got out of the shower?”

Douglas shook his head. “Our esteemed captain would not take a shower if he knew he was running short on time.”

“I could break down the door! I've been watching a lot of those old movies where the cops break down the door with a kick!”

Douglas dangled the key in front of Arthur. “Or...”

Arthur's face fell. “Oh yeah.”

“Besides,” Douglas added, fiddling with the key in the door as he spoke, “Your mother would not be pleased with having to pay the hotel for breaking the door.”

Arthur sighed, and Douglas knew he was thinking it over. “Probably...” he mumbled. “Still, it would've been cool...” he trailed off as Douglas opened the door to Martin's room and stepped inside.

It was still as cold as it was the night before, and Douglas honestly didn't know how Martin managed to sleep in it. He should have insisted that he bunk with Arthur, who was only too pleased to have him.

Martin wasn't in the bathroom, as Douglas suspected, and that only left the lump on the bed.

“Martin,” he called softly, approaching the bed. He did not stir.

He knelt down next to his captain and switched the small bedside lamp on.

Martin was wrapped, tangled really, in the blankets, including the extra one Douglas had finagled for him. He looked awful. Worse than last night, all pale and yet still flushed.

Douglas placed a hand on his forehead. Hot. Despite spending a night in a room that was about the ambient temperature of a refrigerator, Martin was still burning up with a fever.

“Arthur,” he ordered. “Go get your mother. We won't be flying out this morning.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to protest, but only nodded and ran off.

Douglas shook Martin by the shoulder.

“Martin,” he said firmly. “Martin, wake up.”

He was finally rewarded with one eye opening a slit.

“Douglas?” he croaked.

“Yes Martin. You're late for the flight,” he said kindly.

Martin struggled to sit up. “What? But I-”

He couldn't finish the sentence for coughing, a terrible hacking that Douglas associated only with eighty year old smokers and people with tuberculosis. (Not that he'd really had any experience with either, but still.)

Douglas eased Martin back down onto the pillow in a sort of slumped over sitting position.

“You are in no state to fly,” he informed him. “Surely you know that.”

Martin was still gasping for breath after the coughing fit, only managing to nod weakly at Douglas.

“If anything,” he continued, “You should be going to hospital.”

Martin began to speak. “No, that's really not nec-” but was overcome by another coughing fit.

It wracked his impossibly thin body, which looked ridiculously young in Arthur's pyjamas, giving him the essence of a small child despite his years. Douglas feared he was going to pass out for all the gasping he did in between the choking coughs, but he finally collapsed backwards on the pillow, gasping for breath, but still conscious.

“Let me see your fingers,” Douglas ordered.

Martin glared at him, but something under the blankets stirred. Douglas realized that perhaps it was too difficult for Martin to untangle them himself, so he traced Martin's arm down from his shoulder, to his elbow, and finally found his fingers at the end of the maze.

He pulled them out and looked at them under the light.

It was then that Carolyn returned with a sheepish Arthur in tow.

“What is going on?” she screeched. “Arthur comes to tell me that weren't not flying out today, and that we'll have to cancel our client-”

She was cut off when Martin began coughing again, the third fit in as many minutes.

As soon as Martin finished, Douglas set his hand down and went over to stand by Carolyn. Arthur took his position kneeling next to his Skip.

“Carolyn,” he said quietly, ensuring that neither could hear him. “Martin needs to go to hospital now. We need to call an ambulance.”

“What?”

“He's very sick. Probably pneumonia, although I wouldn't put it past him to have pneumonia and something else going on at the same time.”

“Are you sure about the hospital? I mean, people get sick all the time with pneumonia and don't need to go.”

“Carolyn, his fingernails and lips are tinted blue. He's not getting enough oxygen. He needs to go to the hospital for antibiotics, fluids, and breathing treatments. This is not optional,” he said firmly.

Carolyn sighed. “Oh, alright. I'll go talk to someone who runs this place. Who knows where the nearest hospital is!” she declared, throwing her hands up in the air.

A murmur came from the bed.

“Martin, was that you?” Douglas asked. Arthur nodded. He stepped closer. “What is it?”

“Bodo,” he murmured. “The nearest hospital.” His eyes were closed again.

“Right. Carolyn, go get the car,” he ordered. “Arthur, you load all the stuff in it. Pack up Martin's stuff for him.”

Carolyn frowned, hovering in the doorway. “Why?”

Douglas glared at her. “Because we're going to drive him there. I was going to say we call an ambulance, but that will be at least 15 minutes for it to get here, probably more. Then there's the trip back. It will be faster if we take him ourselves.”

She nodded and headed off.

Arthur began opening all the drawers in the room, looking for Martin's things.

“Didn't unpack,” he muttered.

“Arthur, Martin says he didn't unpack.”

“Just... th'desk.”

“Just the stuff on the desk.”

Arthur nodded and began stuffing the items from the desk into Martin's flight bag. Douglas felt Martin wince underneath the blankets. He had a very particular order and system for how he packed the bag, and Arthur was not at all sticking to it.

Douglas took that opportunity to distract him.

“When did this start?”

Martin worked hard to focus blurry eyes on him. He was obviously having difficulty thinking, which was no doubt due to the lack of oxygen and fever.

“B'fore Florida?”

Douglas ran through the trips in his head. Unlike Martin, he didn't have them all committed to memory. Florida was at least a week and a half ago, and he remembered Martin being sick before then.

_Dammit Martin. I told you to go see a doctor and you didn't listen. Now whatever you had has developed into pneumonia._

“Next time, I am taking you to the doctor's myself,” he said kindly.

Martin tried to smile, but began coughing and couldn't seem to stop. Douglas was growing more and more concerned each time he began coughing, as the fits seemed to get longer and worse every time. He wondered how long it would be until he didn't have breaks in between them, and just couldn't catch his breath all the time.

 _After we get to the hospital,_ he promised himself. _He can do that after we get to the hospital._


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur had scurried off with Martin's bags to load them in the car, and returned shortly after.

“Mum's got the car and is ready to go,” he informed them, eyeing Martin with worry. But Douglas didn't have time to reassure him.

“Alright. Hold the door open. And Martin, don't try to fight,” he warned gently before scooping Martin up, blankets and all, much like one would a swaddled infant.

“Wow Douglas!” Arthur exclaimed, “You're strong!”

“Well, it just so happens that yes, I am strong, but Martin here happens to be very light. Almost feathery. If feathers had sharp elbows,” he grunted as Martin shifted in protest and nearly knocked the wind out of him.

 

Carolyn had parked the car right outside the front door where it said no parking. Douglas grinned.

“Arthur, you get to sit in the front.”

“Really? Brilliant.”

“Hang on!” Douglas shouted, Arthur already hopping in. “Open the door!”

Arthur looked sheepish as he opened the door for Douglas.

“I feel a bit like a chauffeur.”

“Yes, well I'm the one driving!” Carolyn added. “Now get in you clots.”

Douglas careful sat Martin on the seat, taking care not to hit his head or any of his gangly limbs, before sliding in next to him. He doubted Martin would be able to sit upright, so he situated him sideways with his head resting on his lap.

 

The cold car certainly did not help Martin's breathing any, and Douglas fretted over the rasping noise Martin began to make not even ten minutes into the journey. He shifted Martin so he was sitting more upright, hoping that would relieve his breathing slightly, which it may have, unless it was just wishful thinking on Douglas' part.

Arthur was too worried to call out any of the four yellow cars he saw, so Douglas knew it was serious. Or maybe he was being kind and letting Martin get them, which was thoughtful, but not so helpful, as Martin's eyes were closed.

“You're going to be fine,” he murmured to Martin quietly, hoping that it was true.


	7. Chapter 7

Douglas barged into what must have been the equivalent of A&E, probably an impressive sight with a limp Martin taco in his arms, being trailed by a woman and a man child.

“Need some help here,” he announced, which caused a flurry of activity from the woman behind the triage desk. A gurney appeared, and Douglas released Martin onto it, setting him down gently, taking care not to tangle himself in the sheets.

They tried to pull the gurney away from Douglas, but he grabbed onto it, letting them know Martin would not be going anywhere without him.

“You handle the paperwork,” he said to Carolyn, “I'll stay with him.”

She nodded, and with that, Douglas allowed them to wheel Martin away, him close on their heels.

 

They wheeled Martin into a trauma room and chatted amongst themselves in hurried tones. It took Douglas a minute to realize some of that was directed at him. But it must have been in Norwegian, which Martin would have been disappointed to find out, was not one of the languages Douglas was fluent in.

He shook his head. “I don't understand. English? Francais?”

There was some more hurried talking, and one of the nurses scurried off, hopefully to get a translator.

The remaining doctors and nurses, two of each, busied themselves with unwrapping Martin to attach numerous wires to him.

Douglas felt a shared embarrassment for Martin about the pyjamas, but there was nothing to be done about them.

They stuck electrodes to his frail chest, heaving up and down much too fast. The clipped something to the end of his finger, which began beeping almost immediately.

Douglas hadn't spent an awfully long time in medical school, but he knew enough to recognize that it was Martin's oxygen saturations, which were far too low, hence the beeping.

The next addition was a hissing oxygen mask on Martin's face, one that was too large and pressed into his eyes.

Without getting in the way, Douglas shifted himself to Martin's head and fixed the mask for him. He had no doubt that Martin was at least partially conscious, and didn't want him to be uncomfortable.

Douglas watched Martin's eyes for movement as the one nurse inserted an IV in his arm, and another took his blood pressure.

Their chattering was harsh on his ears, although he suspected that had more to do with the tone and the suspected content of the words rather than the language itself. Trust Martin to get sick in a country where Douglas didn't speak the language.

And then there was blessed English, a torch beam of light through the fog. It was heavily accented, but such wonderful words that he could understand.

The nurse who'd left before had indeed brought back a translator, or at least someone who could speak some English.

“Hello, I'm Ben. What's your friend's name?”

“Martin.”

“And yours?”

“Douglas.”

“Okay. Why did you bring him to hospital?”

“He was barely conscious, couldn't catch his breath in between coughing fits, and was turning blue.”

“Alright Douglas, how long has he been sick for?” Ben made notes on a clipboard as he spoke to Douglas.

“At least a couple of weeks, although it hasn't been this bad.” He looked down at Martin, still with his blue tinged lips despite the extra oxygen.

“Has he been complaining of pain or other symptoms in the last few days?”

“No...” Douglas shook his head. “He really doesn't complain. He said he was tired, and I suspected that was because he was sick.”

“And does he have any allergies or preexisting medical conditions?”

“He doesn't have any food allergies, but I'm not sure about anything else like antibiotics. He has a problem with his inner ear, but I think that's all.” Douglas had never wished more than he did now that Martin had been more open and talkative about his personal life.

“No medications?”

Douglas shook his head, reaching for the hand nearest him.

“Do you know if there is a history in his family of any illness or diseases, cancer, heart disease?”

Douglas shook his head again. “I don't know.”

“That's fine,” he said kindly. “We have a woman in the waiting room who's filling out paperwork for him and hopefully she knows some more.”

_Carolyn? Not likely. She'd only have phone numbers to call, and if she knows anything, she will absolutely not call them._

“What are they saying?” Douglas asked, gesturing to the many doctors and nurses who were still conversing among themselves.

Ben listened for another minute before replying. “Your friend is very sick.”

Douglas didn't believe him. Sure, that may have been the essential part, but Douglas wanted details.

He could see for himself that Martin's vital signs weren't so great, even with the extra oxygen and fluids they'd started him on.

“What's the plan?” Douglas tried a different tactic, hoping to get more that way.

Ben said something to one of the doctors, who looked up and replied. Douglas didn't like his words.

“He likely has pneumonia, and we're going to admit him to the ICU. He might have to go on a breathing machine. Is there anyone we should call?”

Douglas shook his head firmly. No, Martin would not want his family here. Not now.  


	8. Chapter 8

He just sat there for a while. Someone had given him a stool to sit next to Martin's head, which was kind of them. He just clutched Martin's hand, as if that could fix him. They made him leave the room briefly while they took chest x-rays, and he resumed his position right after. Martin didn't seem to be improving despite the oxygen and fluids, and if anything, seemed to be doing worse.

They'd placed a cooling blanket on him for the fever, but still Martin was sweating from the physical effort it was taking him to breathe. He was using muscles that he wasn't supposed to use to breathe, and Douglas knew that was a sign of impending respiratory arrest. He didn't want to know what that would mean.

Martin's eyes opened, looking terrified.

“It's okay Martin,” Douglas reassured him. “You're at the hospital now.”

Martin didn't believe him, or maybe he couldn't. Who was Douglas to say that everything was going to be alright? Just because he had a knack for fixing things didn't mean he could promise Martin would recover.

Martin licked his lips before trying to speak.

“Douglas,” he said, in barely a whisper.

Douglas leaned in closer and nodded.

“I can't... breathe...” he gasped.

“I know,” Douglas said reassuringly. Martin didn't seem reassured. His eyes darted around the room, taking in all the movement. That probably didn't help, not being able to understand anything that was going on. Perhaps he thought he was brain damaged and no longer able to understand language.

“They're speaking Norwegian, Martin. We're in Norway, remember? Bodo?”

Martin's eyes darted around again before landing on Douglas as he nodded slightly.

“Sd'I'ws'late,” he slurred, and Douglas had to think about that for a moment before it dawned on him.

“Said I was late?” he repeated, and Martin nodded. “Oh no, don't worry about that. I was just trying to wake you up. You're not late. Not late for anything,” he added, looking up at the monitor keeping track of his vital signs. They still weren't good, and would probably still be causing alarms to go off, except Douglas had already seen a nurse turn them off.

Martin's eyes were drifting shut, so exhausted he was with the effort of breathing.

“'M drowning Dougl's,” Martin wheezed, and his heart couldn't help but sink at that description.

“It's alright. You can go to sleep if you want, and I'll make sure they take care of you.”

Martin's hand tightened ever so slightly around Douglas', and he was startled, having forgotten it was there. Then Martin's eyes slid shut and stayed that way, and whether it was sleep or merely falling into unconsciousness, Douglas could never be sure.

Another doctor joined the mix, a technician bringing in a machine behind him.

Douglas looked to Ben for information.

“He's a respiratory therapist. They're going to try something else to help Martin to breathe.”

Douglas watched critically as they attached a different mask to Martin's face and strapped it down. It didn't look very comfortable or reassuring.

“This mask will provide pressure so Martin will not have to do as much work,” Ben explained.

Douglas nodded, watching them adjust dials. The man, the one who Ben called the respiratory therapist, looked happier than he had when he arrived. Douglas hoped that was good news, since Martin's vital signs didn't seem overly improved.

“He's pleased with your friend's response,” Ben explained when Douglas glanced at him for an explanation.

Douglas frowned as he examined the fingernails of the hand he was holding. “I'm not,” he muttered.

“Sorry?” Ben said.

“I'm not very pleased with his response,” Douglas said to Ben. “His nails and lips are still blue.”

Ben nodded at him. “It may take a while.”

Douglas gave him a suspicious glance before turning back to examine Martin. Despite the mask that was supposed to be helping him, Martin was still working too hard to breathe, practically his whole body involved in the strenuous effort, to no avail. It hurt Douglas to watch, knowing that Martin had whispered he felt like he was drowning only moments before.

An alarm went off and the respiratory therapist looked up angrily. He said something to one of the nurses and motioned to the other doctor.

Douglas looked at Ben with what might have been panic, except Douglas Richardson did _not_ get panicked.

Ben watched for another second before turning his attention to Douglas.

“They are going to put a tube in Martin's throat to help him breathe, and put him on a breathing machine so he doesn’t have to work as hard.”

Douglas was angry. “You said that about the mask!”

“Yes,” Ben said kindly. Douglas got the feeling he was used to dealing with upset family members. (Which he was _not_ , he reminded himself.) “But his heart rate is dropping and he is headed towards respiratory arrest. He's getting too tired to breathe, and soon he will just stop. We're going to help him before that happens.” Ben took Douglas' arm and tried to lead him from the room.

“Why am I leaving?” he demanded.

“What they are going to do next is very unpleasant to watch. It can also be very frightening. You can come back when it is finished, but for now, you should go update your friends in the waiting room.”

Douglas nodded numbly, and Ben pointed out the way he should go before heading back in the room.

When Douglas looked back at Martin, the respiratory therapist was tipping his head back and attempting to insert a long metal scoop.

Douglas swallowed against the nausea and hurried to the waiting room. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell Carolyn, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Arthur any of what was going on. The poor boy would be beside himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Upon seeing him, Carolyn rushed over with the paperwork in her hands.

“How is he?” she asked. “Either they won't tell me anything or don't understand me. And I can't fill out half of this bloody paperwork!”

Douglas took it from her, flipping through it.

“He's not doing so great. They're putting him on a breathing machine now, which was why they kicked me out.” He ticked a couple of boxes on the forms. “I don't know the rest of these.” With one finger on a phone number Carolyn had filled in, Douglas dialled it with the other hand.

 

“Hello? Ms Crieff? Yes, hello, this is Douglas Richardson. I work with your son Martin? Yes, at the airline. Well, I suppose I would be that Douglas Richardson. I don't think Martin knows any others. Right. Anyway, I'm calling because we're getting new health insurance, and we're filling out paperwork, and it seems Martin has an awful memory for medical history. So I told him I'd call you up and check. So, is there any family history of anything?”

Douglas hummed and made a note on a clipboard.

“Any allergies? Preexisting medical conditions he hasn't told us about? No, we knew about that one. Alright. And fairly normal childhood ailments? Of course. I'm not sure. I think he may have been embarrassed about his memory, and I so wanted to chat with you again, so I volunteered. Yes, that's perfect. Thank you Ms Crieff. Goodbye.”

Douglas flipped the phone shut.

“Well?” Carolyn said anxiously.

“Nothing we didn't already know about. No allergies, just the weird ear thing, and he was sick plenty as a child.” Douglas finished filling in the remaining boxes and blanks as he spoke. “Admitted to hospital a couple times for pneumonia when he was young, but from the sounds of it, nothing this bad.”

“Probably because he went to the doctor before he couldn't breathe.”

“True.”

“I still can't believe she fell for that,” she muttered.

“She is Martin's mother after all.”

Carolyn glared at him.

Douglas only smirked. “I'm going back to sit with him now. They should be done. How's Arthur?”

“Gone to look for the little shop, nattering on about how little shops are 'brilliant' and every hospital should have one.” She mimed quotation marks in the air as she said brilliant. “He's on a hunt for Toblerones. God help us all if he gets lost.”

Douglas nodded.

“Right. They should be getting him a room soon, probably in intensive care, where ever that is and then Arthur can see him, although he won't be conscious. After that, I suggest you get us a room at the hotel across the street.”

Carolyn nodded wearily, a testament to how worried she was that she didn't protest.

She'd probably only just realized the gravity of the situation, unlike Douglas, she didn't have the double edged sword, both a blessing and a curse, of medical knowledge. Like Douglas would have before medical school, she'd probably assumed Martin just need some intravenous antibiotics, and some bonus oxygen for a night or so before being on his merry way. Not so. Douglas suspected it could be a lot worse than any of them expected. Except Arthur. They wouldn't worry Arthur.

Douglas looked at Carolyn, and she seemed to understand that.

 

Ben motioned at Douglas from the end of the hallway, and he gave Carolyn a glance. She nodded, and he headed back to Martin.

The sight that greeted Douglas in the trauma room was not unexpected, but was still shocking nonetheless. While he was not greeted with the sight that he'd left with, no more metal instruments being stuck down Martin's throat, there was now a tube in its place, taped haphazardly to his cheeks. The tube was connected to a bag that one of the nurses squeezed rhythmically, forcing air into Martin's lungs.

Ben spotted Douglas at the door, and came over to retrieve him.

“I know it looks scary,” he said gently, leading him back to the stool. “But he's been sedated. It doesn't hurt him. And it's helping,” he added, gesturing to the monitors, which indeed, were somewhat happier and not beeping insistently. Douglas nodded slightly.

“I just... I'll just have to get used to it,” he stammered.

Ben nodded reassuringly.

“There's a bed in the critical care unit for him, and we'll be moving him shortly. If you want to go with him, I can bring your friends up when he's settled.”

Douglas only nodded again. He clutched at Martin's hand, which no longer responded in the slightest.

“His muscles have been paralysed to make it easier to put the tube in and he's sedated, but they will both wear off and he could regain consciousness in the next hour or so. We do tend to keep intubated patients sedated, as it can be a very frightening experience for them. I suppose as his medical proxy, you can make those decisions for him, unless the doctors determine it's not in his best interests.”

_Medical proxy..._

“What?” Douglas snapped his head up to look at Ben. “I'm his medical proxy?”

Ben nodded. “According to the paperwork the woman filled out, you're his medical proxy and...” he skimmed the page again, “His partner?”

Douglas only blinked at Ben. “Oh. Yes,” he stammered. He hoped it looked like someone who'd just had a secret revealed rather than someone who had no idea what was going on, but had to play along anyways.

He was going to kill Carolyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, I have this whole thing finished, so if I don't update for a while, someone just poke me or something, since it's likely I've just forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

He stayed there for another couple of minutes while they prepared to move Martin to the CCU. When they wheeled Martin out of the room ahead of him, Ben led him by the arm. Douglas was unaware he'd been so unsteady on his feet.

“It's alright,” he reassured him. “It's a perfectly normal response when you've been through something so stressful. I'll take you up and then come back down for the other members of your party.”

Douglas only nodded.

“Are you going to be staying with him?” he asked, leaning heavily against the wall of the elevator as it began to rise.

“No, my shift is almost over. His nurse also speaks English though, so don't worry about that.”

Douglas nodded, but was a little disappointed to be losing someone who'd already gotten to know Martin so well.

“I'll be back to see how he's doing before my shift tomorrow though, so don't worry.”

Douglas nodded again. It seemed that it was all he could manage to do now.

The elevator announced their arrival and Ben walked slightly ahead of Douglas now that he seemed to be steadier on his feet. He lead him through a maze of doors and hand sanitizing stations before they arrived at a nurses station.

There were three women and a man doing various things around the desk, and Ben greeted them briefly in Norwegian before introducing Douglas, mentioning Martin, and probably their partnership.

 

“Daniel,” he told Douglas, gesturing to the man, “As well as Emilie, Nelly, and Thea,” he finished, pointing to each of them women in turn. He said something else to them and the headed off again.

“And Martin's nurse, Irene.” They were in front of Martin’s room, although the term 'room' seemed to be a bit generous. It was more of a curtained off box of glass. Martin's bed was in the middle of it, and there was a number of machines taking up a large part of it. There was a comfortable chair and a table on the other side, which was where Irene was standing. She was impossibly small and looked to be suited more for making miniature dollhouses than handing unconscious patients. But as Douglas had to admit, she made shifting Martin over look easy despite her small stature. _Obviously more than capable,_ he assured himself.

“This is where I leave you,” Ben said to Douglas, patting him on the shoulder. “I'll bring up your friends and come around to see you tomorrow morning, alright?”

Douglas nodded absently, focused on Martin.

The tape holding the tube in place had been replaced by what appeared to be gauze, wrapped around the tube and secured around the back of his head. Air was now being forced into his lungs by a machine instead of the nurse with the bag. There were multiple bags of fluid dripping into him into a number of IV sites, the original one in his hand from when he arrived, but there were new additions, including a frightening one in his chest.

The aeroplane pyjamas Arthur had so lovingly provided had been removed, and Douglas vaguely hoped they hadn't been cut off. He wasn't sure how he'd missed that. Perhaps in all the excitement...

His chest was mostly bare, the sleeves of a thin hospital gown shrugged down his shoulders to allow the doctors and nurses access to the numerous wires stuck to his chest. There were more still on his arm and fingers, monitoring blood pressure and oxygen saturation.

Martin basically looked awful. Pale, unmoving, and mostly dead.

Douglas sank into the comfortable chair.

“He's doing alright you know,” Irene said. Her voice was lovely,like she was singing without even trying. Probably nice for people in comas. _Not Martin. Martin is not comatose, merely sedated. And besides, he's rubbish with women._

Douglas looked at her skeptically.

“He may not look it, but he's responding very well to the ventilator.”

Douglas looked more closely at Martin. Indeed his lips and fingers were no longer blue, instead just an almost white, which he supposed had to be better.

“He really just needed a rest.”

Douglas had to agree. The way Martin had been working so hard to breathe for so many hours must have been exhausting, and it had only gotten worse the longer it had gone on. This way he could sleep and rest, which would help him recover.

“He's on broad spectrum antibiotics, and we took cultures to figure out what ones will work best. I can show you his chest x-ray if you'd like,” she offered.

“Sure,” Douglas said wearily.

The black and grey splotched didn't mean much to Douglas, but when Irene showed him an example of a normal chest x-ray, Douglas was shocked Martin could breathe at all.

“He has a pretty nasty case of pneumonia, but you did the right thing by bringing him in when you did.”

Douglas only nodded.

“I think your friends are here,” she noted, fixing the sheet around Martin and taking note of his vital signs.

Indeed, Arthur and Carolyn were being directed towards Martin's 'room', Arthur looking utterly terrified, but clutching something for dear life in his hands. Douglas only hoped it wasn't a Toblerone.

“Douglas!” he called out, almost running over to greet him.

Carolyn shushed him. “Arthur, don't run. And quiet down! We're in a hospital, not a jungle gym.”

Arthur nodded as he reached Douglas, throwing his arms around him in an unusually sentimental gesture.

“Arthur,” he said gently. “I'm fine. I'm not sure why you are hugging me.” He looked over to Carolyn, who only shrugged at him.

“Arthur, show Douglas what you found in the little shop.”

“Oh right! Look what I got for Skip, Douglas.” He held it out for Douglas to examine.

Douglas looked back up at Arthur skeptically. “Of all the things in the gift shop, you chose to get him a stuffed otter?”

Arthur nodded enthusiastically. “Because Skip said he wasn't going to fly with a live otter in the flight deck, and this isn't a live one, so it can go in the flight deck.”

“I'm sure he'll love it,” Douglas confirmed. “Arthur, Carolyn, this is Martin's nurse Irene.”

Arthur waved at her, and she smiled, nodding to Carolyn.

“Oh...” Arthur said, and Douglas realized he was seeing Martin for the first time since they'd left the car earlier. “Oh...” he repeated faintly.

“He's doing alright Arthur.”

“Right. I'm sure he is. I mean... you were there. And you said he'd be alright...” Arthur sniffed loudly.

Irene directed him towards the chair and handed him a box of tissues.

“Don't fret now,” she soothed. “He looks a bit frightening, doesn't he?”

Arthur nodded, still sniffling.

“I know, but they're just things to help him get better.”

Carolyn watched the scene unfolding awkwardly, her son being comforted by her pilot's nurse, which her co-pilot stood over, watching.

“How's he been taking it?” Douglas asked Carolyn quietly as Irene explained all of the various tubes and wires unwatched to Martin.

Carolyn only shook her head. “I'm not sure. I explained to him that Martin wouldn't look like himself, wouldn't be awake or able to speak, but I suppose he hoped for something... less.”

Douglas made a humming noise, unsure of what exactly to say.

Arthur's sniffling quieted down as Irene explained that he could hold Martin's hand and talk to him, because they weren't sure what he was able to hear.

Arthur tucked the little otter under his Skip's arm before hesitantly grabbing his hand and petting it.

“I got you an otter, Skip. I know you said no otters in the flight deck, but this one isn't real, so I think it's okay. It could be our mascot! I've always said we should have a mascot, but mum wouldn't let me use Snoopadoo, even though I promised the hair dye would wash out. But I think the otter's brilliant. And we can name it! I know, I'll let you name it Skip, alright? When you wake up, you can name it.”

He sniffed again loudly, and Carolyn apparently decided that was about enough visiting time for Arthur.

“Alright Arthur. We're going to have to go now. Can you go out in the waiting room for a minute?”

“But why can't I stay with Martin?” he protested.

Carolyn gave him a look, albeit one that was less harsh than usual, but a look nonetheless. “Code red, Arthur.”

Arthur's face fell, but he nodded and trudged off.

“God, I hope he doesn't get lost,” Carolyn muttered.

“You and the rest of the hospital,” Douglas murmured in return.

Irene stepped closer to them. “I'm just going to step out for a minute, but push the call button if you need anything.”

Douglas nodded to her, and waited until she left the room to ask Carolyn.

“Partners?” he hissed. “Really? I'm old enough to be his _father!_ ”

“Well, I'd have used that except there's no family resemblance. This was the only way to ensure someone had access all the time. We can't leave Martin alone in here. He was wearing footy pyjamas for heaven's sake!”

“I'll have you know, your son lent those to Martin last night.” Douglas informed her wryly.

“Oh. I thought they looked familiar. It's rare to find pyjamas with feet, covered in aeroplanes in grown men's sizes.”

“No doubt.” He was silent for a moment, both of them listening to the mechanical hiss of the ventilator that was breathing for Martin. “Still a little warning would have been nice. I just had to play along with it.”

“Yes, well, you're very good at that, aren't you?”

“Carolyn, that is not the point,” he said firmly.

“No, of course not,” she said wearily. “But it wasn't like I had time to tell you otherwise.”

 

They stood in silence again, watching the comforting rise and fall of Martin's chest. It seemed to happen with such ease now. It was nice knowing he wasn't struggling for breath.

“I should probably find Arthur,” Carolyn noted glumly.

“Yes, before he finds the paediatric floor and starts teaching all the kids about polar bears and Timbuktu.”

Carolyn nodded. “I'll get rooms at the hotel across the street.”

Douglas shook his head. “I won't need a room. I'll be staying here with him tonight.”

Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Douglas rolled his eyes. “Oh stop that. You said it yourself. The man was wearing footy pyjamas. Besides, I'm his _partner_ after all.”

Carolyn only shook her head, but stepped over to Martin to smooth down his wild hair.

“We'll be back a bit later. Say sixish?”

Douglas nodded, and Carolyn gave Martin's head one last past down before venturing off to find a wild Arthur.


	11. Chapter 11

Douglas sank into the chair as Irene returned.

“They all seem rather nice. How do you know them?”

“We all work together,” Douglas answered.

She nodded. “That's nice. What do you do?”

“We're a private charter firm. Martin is the captain.”

Irene raised her eyebrows. “Really? That must be quite exciting. Is that how you ended up here?”

Douglas nodded. “We were supposed to fly out today, but obviously Martin isn't in any condition to leave the hospital, let alone fly an aeroplane.”

Irene giggled.

“What?”

“Nothing, it just explains the personal effects that he came in with. The pyjamas?”

“Oh,” Douglas said with relief. “Those are actually Arthur's. He lent them to Martin to wear.”

“That was nice of him. And the little otter too. He seems to really care for Martin.”

“We all do,” Douglas said absentmindedly, patting Martin’s hand again.

Irene smiled at him, and Douglas winced inwardly, remembering he was supposed to be Martin's partner.

He wasn't going to kiss him, that was for sure. Not when he was infectious like this. That would be his excuse for not being overly touchy. Besides, not all people in relationships have to be all over each other, all the time. He bit back a smile, thinking of Carolyn and Herc, the former who was still adamant they weren't in a relationship at all.

“We all do,” he muttered more quietly, clasping Martin's hand between his own.

 

A machine beeped, disrupting the moment, and Douglas looked up with concern.

“It's alright,” Irene told him. “Just a little bit of a drop in sats.”

Irene busied herself with Martin's breathing tube, feeding a smaller tube into it. Douglas didn't want to know what she was doing. As long as Martin was alright, he was content.

Irene finished up and the beeping stopped. Douglas relaxed. He hadn't known that he'd tensed up until then.

Martin's fingers twitched slightly, and Douglas returned to clasping them.

His stomach grumbled loudly, as if to remind him that he still had a body that needed to be taken care of. Douglas frowned at it for reminding him.

He glanced around the room before spotting a clock on the wall. 4:30 already. Where had the day gone? He'd just gotten up to prepare for the flight, and now he was here with Martin in intensive care.

It grumbled again, more loudly.

Irene overhead and looked up from where she was fiddling with Martin's IV line.

“We do have a canteen. It's down on the first floor, near the shop.”

_The shop that Arthur got the otter from._

Douglas nodded. “Thanks, but...” he trailed off, frowning as he realized something. “I don't think I have any money...” he said slowly, patting down his pockets. And indeed, he didn't. And even if he did, which was unlikely, considering he never kept money on his person when flying because he had to go through security, it probably wouldn't be money they'd accept here. What did they use in Norway for currency anyway?

“Oh, that won't do,” Irene tutted, finishing up what she was doing with Martin's arm and snapping her gloves off. “Well, it's almost dinner for Martin here. What would Martin like to eat?” she asked with a knowing glance. They both knew full well Martin would not be eating any time soon if the feeding tube in his nose was anything to go by.

“Oh, Martin's not very picky,” Douglas commented, grinning slyly at her as he stroked small circles on Martin's hand. _A woman after my own heart._

“Alright then. I'll see what I can do.”

And with that she left the room and headed towards the desk, where Douglas could see her chatting with some of the other nurses, Emilie and Thea and someone who he hadn't been introduced to.

 

Martin's fingers twitched again and Douglas stopped rubbing his hand to set it back down on the bed. Perhaps Martin was displeased at this excessive touching, and was trying to show his displeasure in the only way he was able to.

The monitor said otherwise, Martin's heart rate picking up slightly after Douglas put his hand down.

“Alright then. No need to get excited,” he murmured, clasping Martin's hand again.

The monitor settled down, but Martin's fingers continued to twitch slightly. Perhaps he was waking up.

Douglas watched him closely for signs of movement.

Irene's footsteps returned, and Douglas looked up to ask her about it.

“He's moving his fingers. Could he be waking up?”

“Oh, it could be, but the sedative is probably still in his system. It may be a while before he's conscious, if he regains consciousness. Some people just have higher tolerances to meds than others.”

Douglas nodded and weaved his fingers through Martin's. It made his hand easier to hold, and this way he didn't have to use as many muscles to help them touching.

He had a feeling he would be spending most of the night doing it, or risk Martin's heart rate rising again.

Martin's eyelids fluttered, but did not open.


	12. Chapter 12

Martin's meal arrived, and Douglas graciously ate it for him, while Martin was fed through the tube in his nose.

He had to admit, he wasn't sure which was more appetizing. Which the hospital food wasn't dreadful, it was still hospital food, and made him yearn for the unpredictability of Arthur's cooking. The pile of white mush that he'd been told were potatoes had nothing on Arthur's surprising rice. The lime gelatin was the highlight, and even made Douglas feel a little guilty for taking that pleasure away from Martin.

“I'll make you a whole batch of lime gelatin when you're better,” he told Martin when Irene stepped out. Irene was lovely, but Douglas didn't feel very comfortable talking to Martin when she was there. He generally didn't like having an audience.

“It may surprise you to know that I am an excellent gelatin maker. Just like I am an excellent co-pilot, and an excellent friend, and an excellent judge of where someone is sick. Which means I expect you to listen next time I tell you to go to the doctor.”

Martin's eyes fluttered and opened briefly before closing again.

“Martin?” Douglas asked, squeezing his hand, but there was no response.

 

That cycle repeated over and over again, at least five times over the next hour, until Martin was able to keep his eyes open and focus on Douglas.

“It's alright Martin,” he soothed, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Don't try to move much. You're in hospital, remember?”

Martin only blinked at him.

“Well, I don't suppose you would remember much of it, considering the high fever you were running.” _And the fact that you were barely conscious because of the lack of oxygen to your brain,_ Douglas wanted to add, but bit his tongue.

“How are you feeling? Sick I'd expect.”

A slight squeeze of Douglas' hand.

“Yes, that's sort of expected when you have pneumonia. You have a tube in your throat, so don't try to speak. And for god's sake, don't do anything stupid like try to pull it out.”

Martin rolled his eyes and squeezed his hand again slightly, as if to indicate he was not so stupid as to try something like that.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “No need to get snippy. I'm just repeating what Irene said.”

Martin raised an eyebrow as a form of a question.

“Your nurse,” Douglas replied. “And here she comes now.”

Martin tried to turn his head to see, but Douglas could tell the mere effort exhausted him.

“Irene, I believe Martin would like to see your face,” Douglas said, shaking his head slightly at Martin, telling him to stop being an idiot.

Irene smiled brightly and leaned over so Martin could see without moving his head.

“Hello Martin. I'm Irene, your nurse as Douglas said. It's nice to see your eyes.”

He only blinked at her.

“Do you need anything?” she asked him.

Douglas wasn't sure what she was expecting to get, it wasn't like Martin would be able to talk after all, but he shook his head minutely, and that seemed to be enough.

“Alright. I'll be here if you need anything. Just let your friend know and he can ring me.”

Martin nodded again slightly, then closed his eyes for a moment, exhausted by the effort.

“Are you sleeping?” Douglas asked.

Martin's eyes reopened, an answer in itself.

Douglas smirked. “And look at you, a captive audience. I can play my word games all I like. And it will pretty much be the same as if you could speak.”

Martin rolled his eyes at Douglas, and that action alone spoke volumes.

Douglas grinned and went off into a list of actors with evil sounding names.


	13. Chapter 13

When Carolyn and Arthur arrived a few minutes later, Martin's eyes were still open.

“Hi Skip!” Arthur chirped. Martin's eyes followed him lazily as he skipped around the bed to sit in the chair next to him.

“How long's he been awake for?” Carolyn asked Douglas quietly.

“About ten minutes. He'd been in and out before that, but nothing lucid.”

Carolyn nodded and they both turned their attention back to the one sided conversation on the bed.

“Do you like your otter?”

Martin nodded slightly and smiled. Arthur beamed. “I picked him out all on my own. It took me a while to find the shop, and then I couldn't understand how much it was, or even how to pay for it.”

Martin furrowed his brow.

“Oh, don't worry. I figured it out.”

“How did you Arthur?” Douglas asked skeptically.

“Oh. Well, I mostly gave them money until they looked happy.”

Douglas could hear Carolyn sigh, and knew she was resting her face in her hands without even looking.

Martin gave him a weak thumbs up.

“Have you figured out what you're going to name him?”

Martin shrugged.

“Oh, come on Skip! You have to have some idea.”

Martin's eyes wandered around the room for a minute before he motioned for Arthur's hand.

“What is it Skip?”

Martin traced out shaky letters on Arthur's hand.

Arthur muttered to himself under his breath to keep track.

“O... L... I... U... oh sorry, not a U. V? Right. Okay. Erm... E... R... And that's all the letters? Alright... Oli... what were the next letters?”

“Oliver, Arthur,” Douglas said wearily. “He's spelling Oliver.”

“Oh! That's a brilliant name Skip!”

Martin nodded and closed his eyes.

“Are you going to sleep now Skip?”

Martin nodded slightly.

“Well, I think I'll just sit here quietly for a while, if that's alright with you.”

Martin nodded slightly, but didn't open his eyes.

Douglas smiled as Arthur grabbed Martin's hand and held it as he played with the stuffed otter he had bought for him.

 

Douglas inched closer to Carolyn.“I'm going to go to the hotel for a bit. Take a shower, you know. Can I have the key?” he muttered to Carolyn, not wanting to disturb the heartwarming scene before him.

Carolyn held out a key card for him. “Your bags are in the room.”

Douglas nodded as thanks and took the elevator down to the first floor where he wandered until he found the exit. From there it was only a short walk across the windy street straight into the hotel.

 

The room was much nicer than the one they'd stayed in the previous night, and Douglas wasn't sure why Carolyn couldn't have booked a couple of rooms here to begin with.

If the cost has been an issue, Douglas would have been perfectly fine to share a room with Martin, and Arthur was always thrilled to sleep on the floor. So many problems could have been avoided that way, or at least minimized. Martin wouldn't have gotten as sick in a properly heated room, and even if he had, would have been right across the street from a hospital rather than a half hour drive away.

Of course, there was nothing that could be done about that now.

 

Douglas took a hot shower, relishing the warmth.

When he was finally done, decidedly wrinkly and waterlogged, he changed into his what were supposed to be his sleep clothes. Of course, considering the only other clothes he had was his flight uniform and one other outfit, this would make do for now. He was only going to be sitting by Martin's bedside for, at the very least, a couple of days, probably more. No need to dress up, especially considering Martin only really slept, and couldn't care less about how Douglas looked.

He doubted Martin would remember much of anything after this was all over.


	14. Chapter 14

He headed back across the street to the hospital, feeling somewhat refreshed, but still anxious and overwhelmed. (Not that Douglas would ever admit to being anxious or overwhelmed, not even to himself, but there may have been the _slightest_ inklings of those emotions.)

He found his way back to intensive care with some difficulty, only getting lost once. He may have a pilot's sense of direction, but that didn't help when all the signs and directions were in a language he couldn't read.

Arthur had fallen asleep next to Martin, still clutching the otter in one hand, and Martin's hand with the other. Carolyn had somehow gotten another chair and was working on a laptop. (Douglas didn't even know where Carolyn had gotten a laptop. Or that she knew how to work one. After all, Arthur was the one who'd done the website.)

Martin was still sleeping, his vital signs looking relatively good, at least as good as they could be for someone with pneumonia who was intubated.

And really, that was all he could ask for.

 

“Might want to take sleeping beauty home,” Douglas noted.

Carolyn nearly jumped. “Douglas! Don't sneak up like that!”

Douglas smirked. “I hardly snuck. What are you doing anyway?”

She flipped the laptop shut before he could get a look at the screen.

“That is none of your business.”

Douglas frowned. He doubted that. Knowing Carolyn, it was something to do with MJN, which would always have something to do with him, no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from it, saying it was just a job, and a pitiful one at that. And yet, the pitiful airdot and the other employees seemed to grow on him, more like a cancer than anything else, but one he wouldn't have removed for the world.

“Carolyn,” he said again, more gently. “You might want to take Arthur back to the hotel.”

He pointed towards the sleeping man boy, sprawled with his head resting next to Martin's chest, one arm across Martin's lap to hold his hand, and the other clutching the otter near Martin's shoulder.

It was a scene worthy of a photograph.

Too good to pass up.

Douglas pulled out his phone and snapped a picture to capture this moment forever. Besides, Martin would need something to cheer him up later when he was recovering.

Carolyn set the laptop down and went over to Arthur, shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“Come on wing commander. It's back to the hotel for you. Douglas will sit watch over Martin and Oliver.”

Arthur stuck his head up and yawned.

“S'pose that's 'kay.”

“Great. Now, on your feet. I'm not carrying you.”

Arthur shuffled off towards the door, yawning and stretching, nearly walking into a part of the glass partition, which he would have done if Carolyn hadn't grabbed the back of his shirt and steered him away.

“Thanks mum,” he yawned.

Carolyn only rolled her eyes at Douglas.

“See you in the morning,” he said as a farewell. Carolyn nodded and Arthur yawned in response. And with that, they were gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Irene came in only shortly after. “Your friends left for the night?” she asked, rolling Martin onto his side.

Douglas nodded. “Went back to the hotel. Figured it would be better for Arthur to sleep in his own bed rather than curled up on Martin's.”

Irene smiled as she rolled Martin back. Douglas was still rather impressed with her strength, despite her not being more than 5'3'', 5'4'' tops.

“Shift change will be soon,” she informed him, motioning to the clock. It was nearing eight. A bit early for Arthur to have fallen asleep, but god knows the boy had been through enough excitement and worry today for a lifetime.

“Do you know who Martin's new nurse will be? Someone who speaks English at least?”

“Oh yes. A friend of mine, Simen. He's fantastic with the patients and fluent in English. I think you'll get along nicely.”

Douglas nodded. He was mostly worried about not being able to communicate with anyone if the unlikely circumstance arose of a complication.

“He should be here shortly. I'll introduce you two, give him the details of Martin's condition, and see you back here in the morning.”

“You'll be his nurse tomorrow then?”

Irene nodded. “We try to give the patients some sense of stability, so we like to keep their day and night nurses the same if we can. I have next Monday off, so if Martin is still here then, which I'm hoping he isn't, you'll have a different nurse that day.”

Douglas nodded. It made sense. He understood the need for stability in children, and figured it probably transferred over to those who were ill, who often acted like they were children.

“Oh, here he is now.”

Douglas leaned over to see who she was pointing to, and spotted a tall skinny man with a head of hair similar to Martin's, or at least would be if Martin had dark hair.

“Simen, this is Douglas, Martin's partner.”

Simen grinned at him. “Hello Douglas.”

The man had, of all things, a Scottish accent. Douglas didn't even want to know how he'd ended up working at a small hospital in Norway.

“I hear Martin's pretty sick.”

Irene nodded, and spoke to Simen in Norwegian. Douglas wasn't sure if it was for his benefit, not wanting him to hear all about how ill Martin was, or their benefit, being able to converse more easily in their native tongue. Either way, Douglas only watched the back and forth conversation until it finished, Simen nodding in all the right spots, and Irene pulling out Martin's chart to show him things, including the chest x-ray.

“The respiratory therapist wanted to see another chest x-ray tonight, so the techs should be by shortly.”

It took Douglas a while to realize Irene was speaking English, and that it was directed at him.

He only nodded.

Irene placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry too much Douglas. Martin is doing well and Simen will take excellent care of him.”

He nodded wearily, unsure of what else he could say to that. Tell Irene she was lying? Claim that Simen wouldn't take good care of Martin?

No, all he could do was smile and nod.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she said, and with that she left.

 

Simen pulled the extra chair over that Carolyn had been sitting in and sat down next to Douglas.

“How are you doing about all this?” he asked, leaning over to make eye contact with Douglas.

Douglas only leaned back and rubbed his face. How was it possible for him to be so tired already?

“Fine. I'm doing fine. Not great, but that can hardly be expected.”

Simen nodded, but Douglas got the feeling the conversation was far from over.

He set his clipboard down on his knees and leaned on it.

“When someone you love is in critical condition, it can be hard to see them this way. It's alright if you don't want to spend all your time around him, or even if you find it frightening.”

“I don't-” _love him,_ Douglas opened his mouth to say, but stopped himself, knowing that he had to keep up the charade or risk being kicked out. “I don't find it frightening,” he finished weakly. “I'm doing fine, really. I mostly feel for Arthur, who can't be taking this well.”

“Arthur?” Simen asked, consulting his notes.

“One of his colleagues. Friends. Our friend. He and Carolyn went back to the hotel for the night. He's the one who got Martin the otter. Oliver, he named it.” Douglas smiled, and didn't know why he was telling the man this. He was virtually a stranger, and there was no need for him to know this information. It wasn't important to Martin's care, or even relevant to anything.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don't know why I'm telling you this.”

Simen smiled knowingly. “It's alright. The stress of the situation can make people act in unexpected ways. I've had people break down sobbing on my shoulder. I've had people punch me. And I've had people fall in love with me. It can be rather unnerving.” He laughed.

Douglas smiled. “I suppose I'm quite tame then.”

“No kidding.” Simen stood up and went to check on Martin.

He suctioned the tube in Martin's throat, which Douglas couldn't bear to watch, so he focused on Martin's hand instead, and how not-blue his nail beds were looking.

When Simen finished, he moved on to checking the IV sites and adjusting the blood pressure cuff. Douglas watched with interest as he checked the bags of fluid hanging above Martin's head, dripping into his veins, and made a note on his clipboard.

“He'll be needing another dose of antibiotics soon,” he explained. “And some more fluids while we're at it.”

Douglas nodded.

There was a noise at the door, and they both turned to see a man with a portable x-ray machine.

He said something to Simen, who replied, and turned to Douglas.

“You're going to have to leave for this part,” he told him. “The waiting room is just around the corner.” He pointed the direction out to Douglas, and he set off, dropping into one of the chairs as soon as he reached it.

Since when was waiting by someone's bedside so exhausting?


	16. Chapter 16

Simen came out to get him a few minutes later.

“You can come back now Douglas. We're all done with x-rays.”

Douglas trailed him back to Martin's room, where he lay, in the same position as before. No better, no worse, just the same.

He felt oddly reassured by that.

He settles back into the chair at Martin's side. The laptop Carolyn had been on earlier was still there, and Douglas pulled it over and opened it up. Her pages were still open. One about insurance, the other an email account. An email to the client they were supposed to be flying today.

It was good, very apologetic, but could be better. Douglas fixed it up a bit, making the situation clearer and using more extravagant words, and sent it.

Carolyn had known it would turn out that way. She had meant for Douglas to see the email. Otherwise she would have sent the email and closed the page before she's left with Arthur. Or perhaps she was getting duller with old age.

Either way, it was yet another way Douglas Richardson saved the day.

He should really be making a list.

(Fetching Martin, insisting they take Martin to hospital, calling Martin's mum to get his medical history, keeping Martin calm and staying with him, and now, fixing things up with the client. All in a day's work really. He should speak with Carolyn about a raise.)

 

Martin seemed to be sleeping peacefully still, and Simen confirmed he'd be given another sedative soon, just to make sure he slept through the night peacefully.

Douglas was glad.

He surfed the web for a bit until Simen brought the sedative in.

“He should sleep until morning. He'd probably have slept anyway, but this way we can ensure it's a restful sleep. Sleeping is essential for recovery.”

Douglas nodded. He felt like he was doing an awful lot of that today, almost like a bobblehead.

Simen injected it into Martin's IV line and dropped the needle in the sharps container.

Douglas held back a yawn. It wasn't even ten pm and he was already exhausted.

“The chair folds out into a nice little bed if you're getting tired,” Simen told him.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “That sounds nice.”

He stood up and watched when Simen demonstrated how to flip it out and put it back, so he could do it himself the next day.

Douglas stretched out on the little bed next to Martin. The railing had been put back up so Martin wouldn't fall out of bed in case he woke up and decided to roll over, having suddenly gained the energy to do so.

Simen returned with a blanket, which he handed to Douglas.

“Oh, thank you,” he said, genuinely shocked.

Simen smiled. “I thought you could use a blanket.”

Douglas unfolded the blanket and smoothed it out over himself, curling up on his side and weaving a hand through the bars to clasp Martin's hand.

He must have fallen asleep like that, lulled to sleep by the hissing of the ventilator and the steady rhythmic beep of Martin's heartbeat.


	17. Chapter 17

He was awoken multiple times in the night, Simen coming in to suction out Martin's breathing tube and to check on the bags of medication and fluid. Alarms went off a few times but Simen assured him in a whispered tone they were nothing to worry about, and Douglas drifted back to sleep.

 

He got up early around six when a much louder alarm went off down the hall. It was quickly silenced, but Douglas was too awake to return to his slumber.

Simen came in when he saw Douglas was up.

“Sleep alright?” he asked.

“I've had worse,” he said truthfully.

Simen nodded. “There are a lot of disruptions, I know. But Martin is doing fine. His x-rays from last night came back and they look a tiny bit better than the ones from the morning. We'll get another set soon to compare. But his fever is down a bit, which is good.”

Douglas stretched before replying. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“It means the antibiotics are having some effect, which is the first step to recovery.”

Douglas yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Is there anything Martin would like for breakfast?” Simen asked. Douglas smirked at him and took note of the twinkle in his eye. Another kindred spirit.

“As long as there's coffee, Martin won't care.”

Simen grinned and headed out to put in the breakfast request.

Douglas took that opportunity to give Martin's hand a pat and tell him he'd be right back.

A quick trip to the toilet, which included splashing water on his face to try and wake himself up, or at least help him feel more human, and he returned to find Martin stirring slightly, just as he had the day before.

Douglas lowered the railing on the side of the bed nearest him so he could reach Martin's hand without having to contort his body.

He fired off a quick text to Carolyn, telling her that the night was uneventful and Martin was doing marginally better. As an after thought, he requested she bring him his phone charger and the book he'd kept in his flight bag since he started at MJN and still hadn't read.

He may as well keep himself busy.

 

Breakfast arrived at seven, and Martin continued to stir occasionally, although did not wake.

The breakfast turned out to be better than the dinner, and Douglas ate the toast and eggs thankfully, even trying the porridge before determining it beyond help.

The coffee, while not having been made by Arthur, was still rather good, and Douglas relished the buzz of caffeine as it hit his body.

 

Rounds were to be at nine, and then Douglas would meet the doctor in charge of Martin's care. Simen told him that the man was brilliant, but didn't speak any English. He offered to stay around for then, but Douglas declined, knowing that Irene would be able to translate for him.


	18. Chapter 18

Ben arrived at 7:30, and Douglas had to admit he was a little surprised he'd come.

“Didn't think I'd show up, did you?”

Douglas shrugged a little. “I wouldn't have bet either way.”

Martin's hand squeezed Douglas' at the mention of betting, as if to scoff at him.

“Oh, awake now, are you?” Douglas said wryly. He turned back to Ben. “I believe Martin disagrees with my previous statement, that I would have bet on it, if I had someone to bet with. Like if someone was conscious for more than ten minutes at a time.”

Martin only rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to sit up more?” Douglas asked. Martin's bed was already in a semi-upright position to help with his breathing, but it was still an uncomfortable angle for trying to hold a conversation.

He nodded, and Douglas did the heavy lifting. AKA, he pushed the buttons. Ben held the breathing tubes up and repositioned them when Martin was more upright, making sure he was comfortable.

“Hello Martin,” Ben said, looking at him. “We met yesterday, although I don't think you'd remember me. I'm Ben.”

Martin shook his head slightly.

Ben nodded. “You were mostly unconscious at the time. You're looking better though. How do you feel?”

Martin shrugged his shoulders slightly.

Ben laughed. “Sorry, you don't get better overnight. Another couple of days before you're ready to fly your aeroplane.”

Martin glanced at Douglas suspiciously.

“Hey, don't look at me. I'm pretty sure I didn't tell him anything about flying. Except he saw the pyjamas.”

At the mention of the pyjamas, Martin's face contorted into what Douglas was sure would have been a cry of anguish had his vocal cords been able to vibrate.

He tried to sit up, or maybe roll over, or do something that wasn't quite working out. All he managed to do was yank on his IV line and make the heart monitor warn him to stop.

Douglas saw Ben push the call button before throwing an arm across Martin's chest, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

“Martin, calm down. It's alright. The pyjamas aren't that bad. Martin, please stop,” Douglas pleaded, holding down the arm with the IV in it.

Simen appeared in the doorway.

“What's going on?” he asked simply.

“He's agitated,” Douglas said, as if it wasn't obvious.

That was all Simen needed to hear.

“I'll get a sedative,” he said, and dashed out. He came back in a second later with a syringe similar to the one he'd used last night, and injected it into Martin's IV line.

“It's alright Martin,” he soothed, helping Douglas hold his arms down after disposing of the needle.

Martin's struggling slowed, and then stopped as his eyes drifted shut.

“What was that about?” Simen asked, checking over Martin's IV sites and various other tubes and wires to make sure nothing was displaced.

Douglas shook his head. “I'm not entirely sure. I mentioned the pyjamas he was wearing when he came in, and then he just tried to...” He shook his head again.

“It's not unusual,” Simen told him, making notes on Martin's chart. “Sometimes people who are intubated just get agitated and there's no clear cause. It's hard when you can't speak and are feeling awful or need something. He'll sleep for a couple of hours.”

Ben nodded at what Simen said.

Douglas smiled to himself. If Martin was awake, they could make a game of 'Simen says'.

Maybe tonight.

“Well, I've got to get to my shift,” Ben said, getting to his feet. “I'll stop by after my shift again tonight, if that's alright. Or I can wait until morning.”

“Morning would probably be better,” Douglas said.

Ben nodded. “Sorry about what happened.”

“Not your fault,” he told him.

Irene stuck her head in.

“What's not Ben's fault? Because he's great for blaming.”

“We had to sedate Martin,” Simen told her, looking up from his note making. “Give me a minute and I'll fill you in.” He flipped the cover back on the chart and hung it on the end of the bed, speaking rapidly to Irene in Norwegian again. She nodded at the proper places, asked a few questions, and frowned slightly near the end, probably when Simen was telling her about having to sedate Martin.

She murmured to him, holding his arm, and then corrected herself, realizing he couldn't understand.

“Can he even hear you?” Douglas asked.

“Right now, probably not since we sedated him, but it's always a possibility. And even if he's not listening on a conscious level, some part of him is picking it up. There's been a lot of research done on comatose patients and how their brain waves react when people are speaking.”

Douglas hummed.

“I'm off then Douglas. Any questions before I go?” Simen asked.

Douglas shook his head, a nice change from nodding.

“I'll see you again tonight then,” he said with a pat to the shoulder.


	19. Chapter 19

Irene gave Martin a sponge bath after that, which Douglas graciously stepped out for.

Carrying him was one thing, sitting by his bedside holding his hand was another, but he really didn't wish to see that. He wandered down to the little shop and looked for a while before remembering he still didn't have any money.

 

When he returned to Martin's room, a technician was just finishing taking another set of chest x-rays.

After that there was only waiting until the doctor in charge of Martin's care came around for rounds.

Douglas spent that time on the web, reading out various aviation information pages to Martin, all of which Douglas was sure he knew already, but couldn't think of what else to do.

 

Irene arrived along with the pack.

“Douglas, this is Doctor Slidder,” she said, gesturing to the man who was holding his hand out for Douglas to shake, which he did reluctantly.

She turned to the doctor and spoke to him. Douglas heard his name and Martin's and probably what meant partner. He was never going to forgive Carolyn for this.

The doctor turned to his entourage and began to speak in neat, clipped speech.

“He's just giving them the medical history now,” Irene explained.

The man finished speaking and turned to pick up Martin's chart, hanging the x-rays up for the others to see and asking them questions about them. Or at least that was Douglas' assumption.

 

Irene argued with him for a minute before turning to Douglas.

“Now, I'm not implying anything, but I have to ask for Martin's sake. Has he ever mentioned anything to you about testing positive for HIV?”

Douglas leaned away from her. “What?” he spat.

“Has Martin ever-”

“I know what you said,” Douglas interrupted, waving a hand at her. “I just don't understand why you're asking. And it's a no. A definite no. Martin would have mentioned something like that, and besides, this is... _Martin!_ ” He knew those words didn't hold the same meaning for her as they did to Douglas, since she didn't know him, but she would soon see that Martin was extremely cautious, bordering on neurotic.

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “I believe you. We have to ask. It's just...” she hesitated. “Healthy young men like Martin don't often end up on a ventilator when they get pneumonia. He's just worried there's an underlying condition.”

Douglas shook his head firmly. “No, this is just Martin being a stubborn idiot and not going to the doctor when he should have.”

Irene nodded and turned back to the attending, reciting off what Douglas had told her. He nodded and added something else before turning back to his team.

“He just wants you to know he wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. It's just that in cases like this, we have to ask questions.”

Douglas nodded again. He was going to start straining his neck muscles. He slouched in the chair and watched the rest of the proceedings.

Doctor Slidder was talking to the small gang of people he had in tow, probably medical students or residents. They spoke some, and he nodded at what they had to say, occasionally adding something else, or perhaps correcting them.

 

The doctor spoke to Irene, and after that, they finished up and left.

“Well?” Douglas said. He hated being out of the loop.

“They're pleased with this morning's films, and he's going to continue what they're doing. The doctor thinks Martin will spend today and tonight on the ventilator and see about coming off tomorrow.”

“That long?” Douglas asked with a frown.

Irene explained. “They're just being cautious. The last thing we want is for Martin to go into respiratory failure shortly after we extubate him.”

Douglas nodded wearily, but he didn't like it.


	20. Chapter 20

Arthur and Carolyn arrived around ten, and Douglas was thankful it was after rounds. He didn't know if he could have sat through watching Arthur hear all those awful things.

The poor kid probably would have started bawling, which would have panicked Martin on a subconscious level, and generally sent everyone into a tizzy. Considering they'd already had to drug him once that morning, Douglas very much didn't want to do that again.

Douglas informed Carolyn of these thoughts later, and she agreed not to bring Arthur in the next day until after rounds again.

 

Despite Arthur's exhausting energy, and Carolyn's fretting over everything in general, Douglas had to admit he was pleased that they were there. It wasn't something he wanted to admit, but just sitting with Martin all day while he slept, occasionally reading to him, was not very entertaining.

In fact, it was about the equivalent of flying the full length of Russia, but without the words games.

 

It was another long day, even with Arthur's amusing rambles. Even he could only talk for so long before running out of things to say or growing weary of his own voice.

They left after dinner with a promise to return in the morning. _After rounds,_ Carolyn said silently to Douglas, and he nodded.


	21. Chapter 21

The second night passed much the same as the first, with Douglas awakening several times as Simen came in to check on Martin and do various things. Breakfast was the same, and Douglas almost felt like it was a routine. Imagine that. Two days and it was becoming a routine already.

 

They took another chest x-ray before breakfast, and as Douglas expected, the results were back before rounds.

Rounds commenced similarly to the previous day's, and Irene told him that the doctor was planning on extubating Martin later that afternoon.

“Excellent news,” she told him, smiling.

Douglas really didn't have it in him to feel happy about that. Relieved maybe, but what was Martin going to say now that he could speak? Was he going to be angry at Douglas for dragging him to hospital or confused by Douglas holding his hand all the time? Had he picked up on the fact they were supposed to be partners?

 

Carolyn and Arthur showed up shortly after rounds again, and Douglas filled her in while Arthur chatted to Martin, who was mostly conscious, having woken up from the sedative, seemingly with no memory of his struggle.

“Mum took me out to see some of the sights yesterday,” Arthur told Martin excitedly. “There really aren't many sights, but mum took me out anyway.”

Martin was doing his best to look interested.

“Oh, but guess where we did go! Guess, guess!”

Douglas smirked. Arthur seemed to have forgotten yet again that Martin couldn't reply. “I think that would be a bit difficult,” he commented from behind his newspaper.

“Oh, right. Well, they have an aviation museum here, and mum says we can go again when you're better, before we leave.”

Douglas peered around the newspaper. Martin looked absolutely thrilled about that news.

“Does that sound good Skip?” Arthur asked, just as excited as Martin was.

He nodded in reply.

Arthur beamed. “Brilliant! It was my idea you know. Mum let me get a guidebook, and I've practically finished it!”

Martin raised an eyebrow and Douglas set his paper down loudly.

“Really Arthur?” he said skeptically.

“Well, it's not very big,” he said defensively. “And it's about all of Norway really. But I've almost finished the chapter!”

“After spending the whole night asking me how to pronounce some of the funny letters,” Carolyn muttered.

“O's should not have lines through them,” Arthur said firmly.

“Just like Q's always have to have U's after them?” Douglas asked. Martin smirked, which Arthur didn't take notice of.

“Yes. Exactly. Because it's the _law._ ” Arthur said this very matter-of-factly, and it would have been amusing except for the fact that Arthur actually believed it.


	22. Chapter 22

Martin mostly seemed content to listen to Arthur talk, and watch Douglas as he bested him in word games. Douglas had offered to set up the computer for Martin so he could watch videos or surf the web, but Martin had declined.

Douglas suspected it was all a bit much for him at the moment.

 

Arthur didn't even notice that Martin's eyes had drifted shut, and that he'd fallen asleep, but just kept reading to him from the guidebook Carolyn had gotten him.

“I suppose I'm not going to see a polar bear,” he noted glumly. “I guess you were right about that.” He looked up from his book. “Skip?”

“He's sleeping Arthur,” Carolyn told him.

“Oh,” Arthur sighed, looking crestfallen.

“Come on Arthur,” Douglas yawned, standing up and stretching. “Your mother can stay here with Martin for a while. I think I'll take a shower and wash my clothes, and you can help me.”

“Brilliant! I love helping.”

“I know you do,” Douglas said wryly. “And I assume you're alright with this plan?” he asked Carolyn, who nodded and waved them off.

 

“So, how are you taking all of this Arthur?” Douglas asked conversationally, waiting for the elevator.

“Well,” Arthur began, stepping in and pushing the button, “I don't like it when Skip's sick. Especially this sick. And I thought when you picked him up like a baby that he was going to die, and then my heart did funny twisting things. And I think I made mum mad, cause I kept pacing around when we were waiting, and she sent me to get Martin something from the little shop, and I didn’t really want to go, because maybe you'd come out and tell us something, or we'd get to go see him.”

Douglas nodded as they stepped out of the elevator.

Arthur continued. “And I don't like how he can't talk. He looks a bit like an alien, except not as cool, because it's real. And it's scary.” Arthur frowned. “He's not going to die, is he Douglas? I mean, he's getting better, right?”

“He is getting better,” Douglas said carefully, leading Arthur to the exit.

“So he's not gonna die?” Arthur asked, perking up.

“Well,” Douglas hedged. “I can't say that. I mean, any of us can die at any time, which you know.”

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed.

Douglas led Arthur across the street and into the hotel without saying anything else.

 

Arthur indeed loved helping, more than any almost 30 year old man should with doing another man's laundry.

And yet he chattered away about Martin and giraffes that love giraffes and something else Douglas couldn’t even decipher, despite his best efforts. (Really.)

Then he entertained himself by trying to fold Douglas' shirt into an origami towel animal, which he failed miserably at, while Douglas was in the shower.

He came out to see his shirt tied in a knot that looked vaguely like some sort of bird, but Arthur protested was supposed to be an alligator.

Douglas smiled and nodded.


	23. Chapter 23

Martin was asleep when they got back, or at least resting his eyes, since Carolyn was still reading out loud to him. Although the woman did love the sound of her own voice, so perhaps she was just reading it for herself.

But when Carolyn stopped as Douglas and Arthur entered, one of Martin's eyes cracked open as if to protest at this interruption.

He seemed alright with it, since it was Douglas and Arthur rather than some nurse to draw blood or do something equally unpleasant.

“Of course you'd come back at the exciting part,” Carolyn huffed.

“Hey,” Douglas said, holding his hands out, palms up, “We're not forcing you to stop reading.”

“Of course you're not,” she snapped. “Like you could get me to do anything I didn't want to. No, but now that you're here I have to take Arthur with me to go see our client.”

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “Why do you need Arthur?”

“I don't _need_ Arthur, but I'm not going alone, and since none of us want to leave Martin and Arthur alone together, you can't come.”

“Hey!” Arthur protested.

Carolyn shot him a look, and Arthur quieted.

“Afraid the old man is going to beat you up Carolyn? In that case, Martin would be about as much help as Arthur.”

It was Martin's turn to protest, and he did so by throwing a pencil in their general direction, which clattered across the floor loudly.

Carolyn tutted at them, and dragged Arthur out by his shirt sleeve.

“Bye Skip!” he called, to which Martin weakly waved a hand.

 

“Interesting book is it?” he asked, to which Martin half shrugged, half nodded.

Douglas skimmed the back book cover and flipped through the pages. It seemed to be about angels and underground tunnels, like the tube. One character caught his eye, and Douglas could easily imagine Herc as this man. He smirked and tossed the book onto the table.

“Well, I'm not reading that to you. You'll have to come up with something else to do.”

Something dawned on Douglas. “Martin, what were you doing with the pencil earlier?”

Martin grinned lopsidedly, and something in it reminded Douglas of a small child around eight, with auburn curls hanging in his eyes and legs with knees that knocked together.

He shook the image away and watched as Martin mimed scribing onto his hand.

“Ah, writing were you.” He nodded knowingly.

Martin rolled his eyes and pointed to the pencil he'd thrown at Douglas earlier.

He smirked. “I don't think so. How about a pen instead?” he offered, pulling one out from a spot on the bedside table Martin couldn't see for the breathing machine.

Martin rolled his eyes and motioned to Douglas to hold down the paper, which he did.

 

Douglas waited patiently while Martin grappled with the pen to write out a message.

When he finished, obviously frustrated with himself and his lack of muscle control, Douglas examined it. The note was legible enough, but nothing near Martin's usual standards of writing, which was tiny and precise.

_Throat hurts. Mouth dry._

Douglas nodded. “I'm not sure if there's anything we can do about that, but I'll go check, alright?”

Martin nodded, and mostly looked fed up.


	24. Chapter 24

Martin decided he hated being sick and was never going to do it again. Really, once was enough.

He wanted to sigh loudly, but couldn't. He wanted to cough, but really couldn't. He wanted a drink, but couldn't.

Really, he just wanted to be well again.

Save for that, he'd be pleased if they took the tube out of his throat. It was slightly better than when he'd woken up the first time to discover it, but it wasn't like it was something you could get used to. It was unnatural. Martin wasn't opposed to modern technology and medicine, he was a pilot for god's sake, but there was something wholly unnatural about being hooked up to a machine that breathed for you. In fact, now that he thought about it, he really liked breathing when he wanted to.

He wished he could sigh again.

Douglas returned with Irene, who explained about the numbing spray that she squirted in his throat. It began working quickly, and while the discomfort lessened, Martin still had a dry mouth and his jaw was aching from being held open for so long.

 

And to top it all off, he was bored. Arthur had brought him a lovely little otter, which Martin thought was kind of him, especially since it was his fault they were still in Nowhere, Norway. Carolyn was being really nice too. Saying they could go to the air museum before leaving. Especially since he was costing MJN money and jobs and clients, and they would probably go under because he was stupid enough to get so sick.

Martin squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the covers in his hands as hard as he could, which really wasn't very hard at all.

“Martin?” Douglas asked, a hand on his arm.

Martin jerked his arm away, and wanted to roll over, but couldn't. He wanted to cry, but wasn't sure if he could do that either. Was there anything he could still do?

 

He motioned for the paper again, which Douglas provided.

He worked hard to grip the pen, and cursed his weak muscles that wouldn't listen.

_Jaw hurts._

He practically threw the pen away when he was done, but he was so weak, it barely reached the edge of the tray. Yet another failure.

Irene explained how she couldn't do anything about that, and Martin only nodded glumly, knowing that in the first place.

He told him that he was supposed to get the tube taken out a bit later, which was a good thing. Probably. He heard Irene leave, and Douglas go back to reading his book.

Would it be a good thing?

 

He closed his eyes and remembered the choking feeling, like he was drowning, only tethered to the world by the grip on his hand from Douglas. Most of that was pretty foggy, which he was grateful for, but he did remember that bit. Looking into his eyes and telling him he couldn't breathe, watching him panic, although he didn't show it.

That was pretty much all Martin remembered from that day.

And the fact that Douglas had carried him, _carried him like a baby,_ out of the hotel and into the hospital in his pyjamas, _his footy pyjamas._ It was almost enough for him to wish that Douglas had left him there, come what may.

“Oh Martin,” Douglas said softly, and he could feel the man dabbing at his face with a tissue. _Oh great. You're crying. That's fantastic. Show Douglas just how much of a child you really are, how you need him to take care of you, carry you around while wearing your footy pyjamas, and wipe your face when you cry._

The thought only made him want to cry harder, but he couldn't sob or wail, and really, what was the point of crying if you couldn't do that?

He didn't want to cry, but he did, and he sure as hell didn't want Douglas Richardson watching or wiping his tears away.

Martin struck out without looking, and was surprised to feel contact with Douglas' arm. He opened his eyes and looked at Douglas in shock.

“Martin,” Douglas warned. “Stop that. You're supposed to get extubated soon and they can't do that if they have to sedate you.”

_Right. Of course. You know best Douglas. Obviously. Because you went to medical school. Oh wait. You dropped out._

Martin's thoughts were being very cruel, and he was glad they couldn't come out of his mouth.

Martin squeezed his eyes shut one last time, but opened them to look at Douglas, and nodded.

“That's better,” he murmured.

He finished dabbing the tears away and returned to his book like nothing had happened.

 

If Irene noticed his red splotchy face when she came in shortly after, she chose not to mention it.

“Good news Martin,” she told him with a smile. “The second set of x-rays from this morning is back, and Doctor Slidder feels comfortable extubating you. A respiratory tech and two more nurses will be here shortly to help. This is good news Martin!” she exclaimed, patting his hand.

Martin smiled weakly.

“I'll be back when they arrive,” she promised. Martin nodded slightly and she left.

He peeked at Douglas, who had put his book down and was watching Martin intently.

“Sir doesn't seem too pleased,” he commented.

Martin knew there was no point in lying to Douglas.

 _Worried,_ he scrawled on the paper.

“Worried that it'll be like before? That you won't be able to breathe?”

Martin nodded, feeling foolish and expecting Douglas to call him out on it.

He didn't, just got up and flipped through the chart that was rapidly growing thicker. He pulled out what Martin recognized as x-ray films and held them up to the light for Martin to see.

“This is the one taken when you were admitted,” he said, holding it in his right hand, “And this is the new one.” He held up the one in his left hand. “See how this one,” he shook the right one, “Is all splotchy, and this one” he shook the left one, “Is all _not-splotchy?_ That would be the vast improvement. Still not back to 100% of course,” Douglas noted, putting the x-rays back where he got them, “But more than enough improvement to start breathing all on your own. I think _Sir_ should be able to handle that.” He gave Martin a knowing smirk, and Martin rolled his eyes in return. He knew how to play this game; he could dance this dance. This was normal and comfortable, and he could do it.

And surprisingly enough, he felt okay with going forward.

He _trusted_ Douglas, and that was a terrifying feeling.

But after all, this was the man who'd barely left his bedside since he'd arrived in hospital more than two days ago, only leaving when Carolyn and Arthur were there to keep him company.

He could do worse.


	25. Chapter 25

The extubation process was frightening and messy, or at least to Douglas, which meant Martin was probably terrified, especially considering he was worried about it before. Douglas thought he did very well with quelling Martin's fear, especially since he was mildly concerned himself. Just barely.

Martin choked and gagged, and Douglas worried he was going to throw up, but he didn't. His sats remained steady and the doctor nodded to Irene and looked pleased.

 

“You're looking great Martin,” she smiled.

She hovered for a few more minutes before excusing herself.

She likely thought they would have lots to say, and Douglas didn't blame her. They made quite the interesting fake couple.

Martin only watched bemusedly from behind the oxygen mask as Douglas watched her leave.

“So,” he rasped. “When are we going to the air museum?”

Douglas only shook his head while trying to bite back a smile.

 

He was still on supplemental oxygen, a mask at first as he became used to breathing on his own, and then nasal prongs that were much more manageable and left him able to speak more clearly.

Of course, when Arthur came to visit, there wasn't much chance for him to speak, which Douglas suspected he was alright with. The doctor had said, through Irene, that Martin's throat would be sore for a couple of days.


	26. Chapter 26

Martin spent that night in the critical care unit before being transferred in the morning to a normal unit. He'd managed to luck out and get a single room, for which Douglas was endlessly thankful. He didn't think he could stand trying to converse with other ill people when he didn't speak their language.

A man could only have so much patience.

And against all odds, Ben was their nurse.

“We only have so many nurses who speak English,” he explained to Douglas, when he was pleasingly surprised at this discovery.

“And I may have pulled some strings,” he admitted. “Martin's not my only patient, I have three others, but if you need anything, be sure to let me know, alright?”

Martin nodded.

Ben smiled at him. “It's nice to see you breathing on your own. You're doing remarkably well considering the state you were in only a couple of days ago.”

Martin shook his head. “I don't remember most of that,” he confessed.

“As it should be,” Ben said firmly, patting Martin on the shoulder. “I have to go now, but I'll be back to check on you in a bit.”

Douglas nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

Ben smiled. “Of course.”

Douglas looked back to Martin, who looked exhausted despite having done nothing but sleep for the past three days.

“Are you going to sleep?” he asked.

Martin shrugged, but his eyes were already drifting shut.

Douglas smiled and pulled out the book Carolyn had been reading to Martin. She'd almost finished it, and now Douglas wanted to see what it was all about.

He'd gotten quite into it by the time Ben returned, and almost didn't notice him popping his head in the room quietly.

He only waved for Douglas to return to what he was doing.

 

When Douglas reached the part Carolyn had stopped at, Martin was beginning to stir.

“Excellent,” he told him. “We can find out the ending together.”

Martin rolled his eyes, but Douglas could tell he was pleased. Carolyn wasn't going to be back until much later, and Douglas wanted to know what happened _now._

An hour later and Douglas set the book down.

Martin's eyes were closer, but Douglas could tell he was still awake.

“So.”

Martin hummed in response.

“I have to admit, I expected more from the angel.”

Martin only hummed again.

“I suppose it was _tolerable_ though. Considering the circumstances.”

Martin snorted. “Sure Douglas.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, pondering the story with only the whistling of oxygen in the background for company.

Ben took that opportunity to return.

“Martin, what would you like for supper?”

He only shrugged. “Not really hungry,” he muttered.

He still had the feeding tube in his nose, but was allowed to eat, he just didn't feel like it. Douglas didn't blame him considering it was hospital food, but felt that Martin did need to eat something.

“How about the gelatin?” Douglas offered. “It passes my approval, and that's good enough.”

“Sure,” Martin mumbled, rolling over slightly into his pillows.

Ben smiled. “And I'll throw some more food in there. Just in case.”

Martin only waved a hand.

He went back to sleep shortly after that. Douglas woke him up to coax him to swallow some of the gelatin, which he did reluctantly, only when Douglas threatened to spoon feed him, pretending the spoon was an aeroplane to get him to open his mouth. Martin shut up and swallowed some of it after that.

Douglas was pleased with that, and allowed Martin to fall asleep after he'd eaten about half.


	27. Chapter 27

Carolyn and Arthur showed up shortly after Martin fell asleep, but stayed for a while so Douglas could run back to the hotel, shower, and wash his clothes.

He slept next to Martin's bed again that night.

 

This continued for a fifth day, then a sixth day, then a seventh day before the doctor decided Martin was well enough to leave.

And so on the eighth day, Martin was discharged from the hospital, dressed in a change of clothes they'd brought for him from the hotel, his various personal items in a bag on his lap, most of which was the pair of footy pyjamas he'd worn to the hospital. Douglas got the honour of pushing Martin out in a wheelchair, although Arthur really wanted to. (The other three unanimously agreed it would be a bad idea, but Arthur was still upset.)

 

Martin slept most of that day, and all night, which made Arthur rather disappointed, since he'd wanted to talk to him about the air museum and otters and polar bears and O's with lines and giraffes, and basically anything that came to mind.

So instead, Douglas had to listen to it. It wasn't all bad, but he tuned most of it out, nodding when he felt it was appropriate and occasionally making facial expression while trying to figure out how to keep Martin from flying. He could fly Gerti on his own, but he knew Martin would be insistent on 'helping'. He wondered if he could drug him, but decided Carolyn wouldn't approve.

“Douglas, are you even listening?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I'm going to bed now. Good night Arthur.”

Arthur sighed. “Night...”

Martin was still sleeping when Douglas slipped into their room and Douglas was hoping he stayed that way. It was why he insisted Arthur stay in his mother's room rather then bunking with them and waking Martin up early with his inane chatter.

Douglas fell into a dreamless sleep that night, sleeping in a real bed for the first time in more than a week.

 

They went to the air museum the next day, Martin still exhausted, so it was only a short visit.

Douglas hadn't really wanted to go at all, concerned for Martin's well-being, but Carolyn was insistent they would be flying out the next morning, and Martin was insistent on going.

He threatened Martin with a wheelchair, which he gave into about halfway through their tour.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Douglas even let Arthur push.

Only for a little while.


	28. Chapter 28

“So Douglas,” Martin began conversationally, after they were finished the takeoff checks and were heading along nicely. “I recall there being a lot of... oh how shall I put this?” Martin pondered that for a minute. “Touching. Yes, that's it. I recall there being a lot of touching. Especially your hand and my hand. Almost constantly.” He narrowed his eyebrows. “What do you have to say about that?”

“Heterosexual hand-holding,” Douglas said firmly. “I had to pretend we were partners, remember? I figured it was the least I could do without them questioning it.”

Martin nodded.

“Of course Douglas. Although,” he pointed out, “You did hold my hand before you knew you were supposed to be partners.”

Douglas glanced at him. “How do you even remember that?”

Martin shrugged. It was foggy, all slow and muffled, like he was trying to run under water, but the basics were there, Douglas holding his hand while he struggled to breathe.

“You said yourself you weren't told until later.”

Douglas only scowled.

“It was only because you thought you were dying.”

“I'm sure,” Martin agreed. “Although, really-”

“Sir?” Douglas interrupted.

“Yes Douglas?”

“Do please shut up. Just remember who has the picture of a certain someone with another certain someone fallen asleep across the first certain someone, clutching an otter.”

Martin frowned. “What?”

“I suppose that wasn't very clear. I have a picture of Arthur sprawled across you clutching little Oliver while you're both asleep.”

“Oh,” Martin said faintly. He didn't remember that, although since he was asleep, he probably shouldn't.

“My only regret is that I didn't get a picture of you in the pyjamas.”

The memory of the footy pyjamas flashed back to him, Arthur giving them to him the night before, putting them on, getting twisted up in them, Douglas carrying him to the car with them on, being at the hospital wearing them.

He groaned and put his face in his hands.

“That's right,” Douglas said, and Martin could practically hear the gleeful smirk he was sure was on his face. “It was an interesting week filled with footy pyjamas covered in aeroplanes, stuffed otters named Oliver, O's with lines through them that shouldn't be there, giraffes that love giraffes, and, of course, heterosexual hand-holding.”

Martin frowned. “Giraffes that love giraffes?”

Douglas waved a hand. “It's an Arthur thing.”

“Ah,” Martin said knowingly, like that explained everything. Because it did.

 

And so they flew off into the sunset, the bloody ridiculous sunset that refused to end.

Such was their luck.

**Author's Note:**

> There are a bunch of references to not only Ben's other works in here, but other things as well. They're not only in this chapter, but throughout. Props to anyone who can catch them.


End file.
